


Baby, Satisfy Me

by asarcasticwitch



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Brat Stiles Stilinski, Choking, Coming Untouched, Consensual Kink, Dom Peter Hale, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Good Peter Hale, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Not Beta Read, Older Man/Younger Man, Orgasm Control, POV Third Person, Rough Sex, Stiles Stilinski is Eighteen Years Old, Stiles Stilinski is a Tease, Top Peter Hale, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23758279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asarcasticwitch/pseuds/asarcasticwitch
Summary: Elvis’ deep, husky voice hums from the record player, the glorious sound bouncing off all four corners of the penthouse suite, filling every nook with the upbeat tune.Despite the volume, Peter finds it difficult to concentrate on the words flowing from the King of Rock and Roll.How can he possibly pay any mind to the legendary icon when his attention is being ensnared by the tempting display happening at the corner of his eye?
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 236





	Baby, Satisfy Me

**Author's Note:**

> This literally has no point or plot; it's just porn with Peter being utterly enchanted by Stiles' goofy and devious form of seduction.
> 
> I swear I have no idea where all these lovey-dovey fics are coming from, I have always been privy to the dark and twisted side of writing, but I guess that's just not happening with what I've posted so far. I'll get there, but for now, let's all just fall helplessly in love with a sappy Peter Hale. 
> 
> Everything is tagged so if any of it bothers or offends you then turn back now, and all mistakes are between Grammarly and me—apologies in advance.
> 
> Enjoy!

_“A little less conversation and a little more action, please...”_

Elvis’ deep, husky voice hums from the record player, the glorious sound bouncing off all four corners of the penthouse suite, filling every nook with the upbeat tune.

Despite the volume, Peter finds it difficult to concentrate on the words flowing from the King of Rock and Roll.

How can he possibly pay any mind to the legendary icon when his attention is being ensnared by the tempting display happening at the corner of his eye?

His delicious little mate thinks now to be the most prudent time to sing along tunelessly to the music while swaying his hips most enticingly—quite unintentionally; it would seem. It's forcing Peter's mind to drown out the notes of the old classic, thus, rendering the record player pretty much futile at this point.

Actually, he should know better than to think anything Stiles does is ever _unintentional_. The mischievous little shit is no doubt completely aware of what he’s doing, but, ever the astounding actor, feigns nonchalance while driving his Alpha to goddamn distraction.

_“All this aggravation ain’t satisfactioning me...”_

Stiles continues, his voice resembling that of a below-par tribute band, but that’s not enough to turn Peter off; if anything, it just makes the whole thing even more endearing. The boy rolls his body to the melody, the movements awkward but somehow still managing to come across seductive as he saunters around the room.

Peter puts down his pen, eyes never straying from the boy, as he leans back casually in his chair. He rolls away slightly from the desk, hands clasped between his now relaxed thighs. He can afford a little break, he’s been working most of the day after all, and if Stiles is putting on a show for his viewing pleasure, well, he’s more than happy to oblige the little minx.

_“A little more bite and a little less bark...”_

Stiles drops his voice low, emphasizing the word _bite,_ and oh, does Peter just love being right—not that he’s ever wrong, but it’s still satisfying nonetheless. The boy hazards a glance over his shoulder, gaze flitting over Peters laid back stature, a smirk curling his sinfully pouty lips as he notices the prominent bulge in his jeans. Having the wolf’s focus solely on him has been the plan all along; Peter can see it in the mischievous glint across those shimmering amber eyes.

While Peter is the dominant one in this relationship, it’s no secret that Stiles has him wrapped tightly around his little finger. When the boy wants something, he knows exactly what buttons to push to get everything he craves.

Peter is a proud man, but he isn’t too proud to admit that while on paper he’s the one holding all the control, Stiles is ultimately the one really in charge here.

Unclasping his hands, he begins to tap his fingers against his thigh, strumming rhythmically in tune with Stiles’ singing. It’s a subconscious tic at first, but as Stiles gets more provocative with his movements, Peter becomes more and more involved in every word that drips off his tongue.

_“Close your mouth and open up your heart and...”_

A wickedly flirtatious smile curves the edge of Stiles’ plush pink mouth, his long, nimble fingers running over his lean torso, stopping to pinch his hardening nipples through his practically translucent shirt.

Peter's throat is suddenly bone dry.

He's unable to do anything except observe, completely enthralled with the slender frame moving erotically towards him. He swallows thickly in a desperate attempt to keep any lewd sounds from escaping his throat—it wouldn't do to show the boy just how affected he is.

Stiles slams his hands down on either side of the desk chair, the sudden movement snapping the entranced wolf away from mentally undressing his mate. Now leaning over him, Stiles rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, letting out a soft moan while closing the gap between them. Peter’s gaze is fixed on the younger man’s wide doe eyes, now blown black with lust. He subconsciously licks his lips in anticipation.

Stiles’ mouth, however, isn’t destined for the location the Alpha was hoping for; instead, his lips ghost lightly aside his ear.

The warmth of his breath tickles the side of Peter's face; it feels as though he’s touching, but not quite. He knows exactly how to tease the wolf, and Peter can’t help the low rumble of warning escaping his throat. Stiles breathes an almost-silent chuckle, the proximity of the gentle sound sending a shiver over his skin.

The teen knows full well that he’ll pay dearly if he insists on keeping up the tease, so with a light irresistible purr, he whispers the conclusive lyrics directly into his ear. “ _Baby, satisfy me._ ”

Sparks shoot up Peter’s spine; with a feral growl, he lunges to his feet, the chair rolling backward with the sheer force of his movement. He pushes Stiles back, crowding him against the desk littered with his paperwork.

Typically, his inner perfectionist would be cursing him for such carelessness, but right now, he doesn’t give an ounce of a shit. If the papers and files end up creased or covered in Goddess knows what, then he doesn’t have the mental capacity to worry about that right now.

Paperwork is furthest from the top of his list of priorities.

Stiles’ hands fly to his sides, grasping onto the edge of the desk to keep himself balanced, his knuckles instantly turning white with the sheer force of his grip. Before the boy can voice his shock at the impact, Peter’s lips crash into him, sharing a ferociously bruising kiss, which no doubt makes all of the teen's sarcastic retorts disappear into oblivion.

His hands curl around Stiles’ waist tightly, purring at the thought of vivid purple bruises forming under his fingertips. He knows this is precisely what Stiles was hoping his little spectacle would get him. His mate has always expressed how much it turns him on to see Peter lose control.

Hard and rough— _animalistic_ —is what brings the beautiful boy closest to ecstasy.

As his tongue explores every inch of his mate's mouth, Stiles begins to rock his hips towards him, desperately seeking any amount of friction he can. Peter can’t ignore his pretty pleas for long, the movements getting more and more aggressive, now rutting frantically against the thigh pressed firmly between his spread legs.

But, Peter isn’t about to let the human set the pace. Oh no, that’s for him to decide.

He snakes a hand up Stiles’ chest, wrapping his fingers around the boy’s deliciously pale throat. He applies firm pressure, not enough to asphyxiate but enough to get his mate's undivided attention.

Without fail, Stiles responds with an approving moan, momentarily halting his grinding hips. He sucks air through his teeth, head dropping backward as his eyelids flutter closed.

“Let’s not forget who’s in charge here, sweetheart,” Peter playfully chides, tightening his grip, a subtle threat to leave stark finger-shaped marks in the alabaster flesh beneath. “Keep still.”

Stiles gasps at the sudden change in pressure, his hips jolting once more towards Peter’s thigh before stilling completely. A taunting grin creeps across the human’s face, eyelashes flickering innocently as he looks up at him, façade wickedly childlike. “Yes, _Alpha_ ,” he answers, voice dripping with faux obedience, the use of the title rolling off his tongue like a challenge.

Seeing Stiles all smug and devilish makes Peter’s gut fill with fire. He pulls the teen against him, their bodies crashing against each other with brutal force. The guttural groan that escapes his mate is utterly primal; there’s no other way to describe the sound that now echoes between his ears.

“Are you going to be my good boy, Stiles?” Peter murmurs, his grip unmoving even as the boy tries—and fails—to wiggle his hips. “Or will I have to punish you before the night is up, hm?” He keeps his voice low and steady, but the Alpha dominance rings loud and clear. “Answer me, baby. Are you going to let me take care of you, let me give you what you need?” He highlights his words by grinding his hardening length against the teens, giving him a taste of what he so desperately wants. “Or are you going to be a brat? In that case, you’ll be sent to bed without my cock, after taking a spanking for your efforts. The choice is yours.”

Stiles takes all of three seconds to weigh his options and decide which he prefers. “I’ll be good, Alpha. I promise.”

Peter smiles proudly. “My perfect boy.”

Stiles preens at the praise, the rich, heady scent of his arousal enveloping Peter in a tight embrace. He leans in, brushing his lips against his mate's ear, leaving a delicate kiss on the lobe and delighting in the soft whimper he receives for the touch as he moves backward.

Stiles lowers his head, angling himself so he can look up through his eyelashes, fluttering them alluringly and Gods that look alone almost sends Peter into a frenzy. He lunges, kissing his boy with every ounce of passion he has while maneuvering him back onto the desk.

The teen lets himself be manhandled into position, his legs opening instinctively as the wolf moves between them.

Peter’s mouth goes from Stiles’ lips to his jaw, nipping and biting down to his neck. The human mewls as he peppers light pecks across the raw skin of his throat, loving every second of attention he's receiving.

Baring his teeth, Peter gently tickles Stiles’ sensitive skin above his collarbone before biting down, hard.

“Fuck, Peter!” Stiles shouts, his voice climbing a few octaves, his body shaking with the force of stopping himself coming in his pants as the pleasurable pain shoots straight to his core.

Peter can’t help the smirk gracing his lips as he lets go of the skin, brushing his tongue over the purple mark, lapping up the prickle of blood that surfaces, the tepid wetness soothing any searing pain.

“So sensitive,” he whispers against Stiles’ tender flesh, failing to keep the smugness from his voice. He lifts his gaze to look at the complete unadulterated bliss across the boy’s face, giving a subtle wink, relishing in the glare he gets in return.

“Dick,” Stiles retorts as he tries to bring himself a few steps back from the finish line.

“Oh, we’re getting there,” Peter smirks again—a shit-eating grin that he knows winds the teen up something fierce.

He’s enjoying every moment of this sweet torture; he sees no point in hiding it.

Peter guides the boy to lay on the desk, allowing himself the indulgence of looking upon his mate in his entirety. Stiles leans up on his elbows, curiosity driving him to watch everything the wolf is doing.

“I believe you're wearing entirely too many clothes, my dear boy.” Peter's hands roam, exploring the human’s still fully clothed figure. Letting his claws sharpen, he slices open Stiles’ crisp, white shirt, pearlescent buttons pinging and scattering across the room.

Stiles’ mouth gapes, lips hanging open deliciously as he tries to conjure up the words to scold the action.

“Don’t worry, I’ll buy you a new one,” Peter drawls. “Now, close that mouth, sweetheart, unless you want something filling it.”

Stiles rolls his eyes at the blatant disregard for his precious clothing and makes a show of shutting his mouth, glaring petulantly as his teeth _clack_ together.

Peter’s hands begin worshipping every inch of bare flesh beneath him; he takes his time to reacquaint himself with every lean muscle and lightly protruding bone. He brings his thumb up to gently caress one of the pink, hardened nipples, eliciting a soft whimper as his other hand travels down to where the boy wants it most. He palms Stiles through his pants, making sure to praise every glorious inch.

Peter makes quick work of the teen’s jeans, shredding and throwing them on the floor in a crumpled heap. His shoes are next, not bothering to untie the laces when he has perfectly good knives on his hands, sending them and the socks in the same direction as everything else.

He pauses for a second to look his fill, completely in awe of the stunning boy beneath him. A boy who trusts him explicitly, a boy who accepts him for all that he is.

A boy who loves him unconditionally.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he breathes out.

Stiles blushes at the compliment, and Peter’s eyes track the stunning pink shade blooming from his mate's face down to the trail of curls between his thighs, the color contrasting perfectly with the small brown marks scattered across his skin.

Without warning, he dives forward, licking a sloppy stripe from root to tip of his mate's clothed cock. Stiles’ head falls back, moaning breathlessly as his elbows tremble from holding his weight.

Peter moves his tongue over the head, tasting the salty wetness seeping through the fabric before engulfing the whole tip into his mouth. Stiles’ hips jerk involuntarily, helplessly seeking more friction, but Peter applies pressure to his hip, reminding him to keep still.

His mate whines pitifully but obeys.

After one last hard suck, Peter trials his teeth down the length, peeking up from his current position to see his mate arching his back deliciously at the new sensation. With a smug grin and one last little nip, he draws back to slide his tongue up the boy’s smooth chest, stopping as he reaches one of those gloriously rosy nipples.

Taking the swelling bud between his teeth, he bites down gently until it hardens in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and sucking when the boy arches closer. The sound of delightfully sweet whimpers fill his ears as he teases until he’s content the area is swollen and puffy.

Letting go with a lewd _pop_ , a filthy smile curls his lips as he lowers his head to the other, wasting no time in giving it the same treatment.

After several moments he takes his mouth away completely, not before placing a sweet, chaste kiss on the bruised nubs. Stiles lets out a whine from the loss of contact, but Peter shushes him with a soft peck to his lips.

Delighted with the state of the sprawled out human, he stands up straight, reaching over to the top drawer of his desk. He grabs the half-empty clear bottle from under the array of writing utensils before resuming his position between Stiles’ legs.

It takes quick work to remove the offending garment still concealing his mate, the ripped fabric joining the rest of the clothing laying haphazardly across the floor.

Stiles lays in silence as Peter brings both hands up to open the buckle of his own belt, the sound of the leather sliding painfully slowly through the loop cutting through the quiet. He carries on with his button and zipper, pulling them apart like they have all the time in the world, watching gleefully as the rage rises in Stiles’ face while he does so.

He can’t hold back the slight chuckle as he notices the human squirm with impatience beneath him.

Stretching the waistband of his briefs, he pulls them down just enough to reveal his thick, weeping length. He wraps his fingers around the shaft, giving himself one long stroke, Stiles licking his lips as white beads at the tip, blatant desire evident across his features.

Peter knows how well-endowed he is, he doesn’t need supernatural eyesight to see that, but he can’t help preen every time he sees the human’s mouth water like a man starved at the sight of him.

The _pop_ of the bottle lid draws Stiles’ attention away from drooling over his cock. He watches enraptured as Peter hurriedly coats two fingers in the clear gel while ushering him to spread his legs wider. He drags his wet fingertips across his mate’s hole before sheathing a single digit into the tight heat.

Stiles’ arms lunge forward without thinking, grabbing onto Peter’s shirt, pulling him down on top of him. He covers the wolf’s lips with his own, his tongue licking the inside of his mouth.

This kiss is all tongue and teeth, no real rhyme or rhythm to it, just pure carnal lust.

Peter plunges another finger in, right down to the knuckle. It takes him mere seconds to find the sweet spot that makes Stiles squirm uncontrollably, the boy groaning into his mouth as he swallows each sound greedily.

Stiles pulls away from his lips, panting as he lets his head fall back to hang over the desk. Peter takes the opportunity to suck more marks into the pale skin while spreading his fingers, scissoring them inside the boy—stretching him wide.

“Please, I need- oh, fuck!” Stiles gets half his sentence out before Peter curls a third slick finger into him, punishing his prostate on every thrust.

“Tell me what you want, baby; I need to hear you say it,” Peter growls, his own orgasm building up in his gut, threatening to wash over him as he ruts against the human’s sweat-slicked hip like a horny teenager.

Luckily, Stiles is desperate for his needs to be fulfilled and doesn’t leave him waiting long for an answer. “I need your cock inside me, Peter. Please, I’m begging you... fuck me,” Stiles pleads beautifully, and Peter is unable to resist

He’s a weak man at heart.

He removes his fingers, Stiles whimpering at the emptiness as his thoroughly stretched hole clenches on nothing. Peter grabs the lube once more, generously coating himself before throwing the bottle out of sight. He gives a few strokes before lining up, his hands moving to his mate’s hips to ready himself.

With one hard push, he’s enveloped inside the hot constricting velvet, not stopping until his hips connect with his mate’s ass, their moans erupting in unison. Stiles brings his legs up to wrap around Peter’s waist, pulling him in as deep as he can possibly go.

“Gods Stiles, you feel fucking incredible,” Peter hisses through his teeth; head bowed as he wills all his self-control to haul himself back from the edge.

He gives the boy a brief moment to adjust to the feeling of being stretched thin—because he’s a gentleman—before pulling almost all the way out and plunging back in. Stiles lets out a scream as he’s filled wholly, grabbing onto Peter’s forearm with one hand and the edge of the desk above his head with the other for support.

Peter fucks into him in abandon, hollowing him out as Stiles alternates between colorful curses and a mantra of his name.

It takes them no time at all to fall into sync with one another. Even with the berserk pace that Peter has set, Stiles has no trouble in matching his speed, his hips grinding up to meet the wolf’s punishingly hard thrusts.

The noises filling Peter’s apartment are nothing less than pornographic, the slapping of skin hitting skin completely and utterly obscene. Neither of them is too far away from their peak, but Peter is determined to see Stiles get there first. He changes the angle of his hips slightly, aiming to hit every nerve ending inside his mate with each buck of his hips.

“Touch me, please touch me,” Stiles begs, and Peter is almost compelled to do so, but he just shakes his head.

Stiles whines, frustrated, sliding his hand off Peter’s forearm, clearly aiming to do the job himself.

Peter notices his mate’s blatant disobedience, and before he can touch himself, he grabs his wrist, slamming it down onto the desk. “Ah-uh, don’t be a bad boy,” he tuts, hips slowing slightly. “Or I’ll stop.”

He prays silently to all the deities above that Stiles will obey him, even just this once. If he has to make good on his threat and actually stop, he’s confident he’ll keel over and die.

Well, not really, Peter’s nothing if not a drama Queen, but the last thing he wants right now is to walk away from the intoxicating pressure building in his belly, all because his boy is being a brat.

Stiles lets out a cry, his body trembling with the need for release. “Please, Alpha... please.” He’s almost sobbing now, and Mother Moon does that just push Peter even closer to the brink. “I-I need you to touch me.” The teen arches his back, trying frantically to conjure friction from thin air.

“You don’t need me to touch you, sweetheart. I know you don’t.” Peter’s fangs have descended, his control slipping with every second he has to hold himself back. “You'll come with just my cock, or not at all.”

Stiles grinds his teeth together, making a fist with the hand Peter has trapped. Every muscle tightens as if he’s trying with all his might to fall over the edge untouched.

Peter almost goes cross-eyed at the boy’s violent clenching.

Seeing tears fill Stiles’ eyes forces Peter to take pity on his poor desperate mate, deciding to give him just a little bit more to ensure his orgasm is nothing less than earth-shattering. He moves the hand from Stiles’ wrist, placing it back around his raw throat, putting just the right amount of strength behind the squeeze for his boy to see stars.

“Come for me, Stiles,” the Alpha command seeps into every word, his eyes flashing scarlet as his claws sharpen to points. “Baby, _come for me_.”

Stiles’ eyes roll to the back of his head as his whole body tenses. “Fuck,” he gasps, his mouth falling open on a silent scream as he comes hard, no more words coming out as Peter tightens his grip.

His cock pulses frantically, his release erupting between them, whole body shivering with the intensity of his pleasure as he sobs and pants breathlessly.

Only when his mate has fallen back completely boneless, mind in a floaty, near unconscious daze, does Peter release his throat.

Seeing his mate's face contort in such a delightful way and feeling how his body tightens intermittently around him through the aftershocks is too much to bear. He can’t keep his own orgasm at bay any longer, so he gives in, letting the waves of bliss finally crash over him. His hips stutter, convulsing as he roars, filling Stiles to the brim with his release.

Peter collapses onto Stiles’ chest, his muscles betraying him as the last few sparks of pleasure course through him. His mate lies motionless under him, the only movement being his chest erratically expanding with his labored breathing.

For a few minutes they lay there, calming their breaths, basking in the afterglow. Peter’s the first to stir, only just managing to hold himself up on his elbows to lean over the teen’s lax body. He pulls his softening cock from the boy’s tender hole, both hissing at the sensation.

After watching his come drip out of his mate—his wolf content with having thoroughly claimed him yet again—Peter puts one hand around the back of Stiles’ head, coaxing the teen back to coherency while brushing through the damp hair curling around his fingers.

When Peter’s brain has decided to come back online, he smiles to himself, noticing the music still playing in the background. Like a persistent torment, a mocking tune playing as a reminder of how easy it was for Stiles to get his own way.

Just more proof that his boy is really the one in charge here.

Truthfully, Peter wouldn’t have it any other way.

“So, baby, did that _satisfy you?_ ” Peter teases.

“Hm,” Stiles hums thoughtfully, eyes blinking open to look up at him. “I think we could've done with _a little more bite and a little less bark_ ,” he answers with a dramatic wink and an utterly ridiculous wiggle of his eyebrows.

Peter snorts, shaking his head in a show of feigned despair as Stiles giggles, a little fuck-drunk and dopey. “My mate is an idiot,” he mutters, fondly, no heat behind the words as he looks down at his boy in complete adoration.

“Yeah, he is,” Stiles shrugs, a soft smile curling his lips as his hand reaches out to cup Peter's cheek, thumb smoothing delicately over the corner of his lips. “But you love him anyway.”

Peter leans into the affectionate touch, his head nodding instinctively in agreement. “I love him anyway.” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you think I've missed any tags or want me to add warnings here for future readers, please let me know as I want this to be a safe space. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I use the lyrics to Elvis' A Little Less Conversation and I don't own any of it; I'm just borrowing the words.
> 
> Have a prompt that you want to see me write? Something you don't mind waiting an eternity for? Plop it in my ask box on Tumblr at [asarcasticwitch](http://asarcasticwitch.tumblr.com) and I'll see what I can do.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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